


Exclusive

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [61]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Married Life, Monogamy, POV Brian Kinney, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian experiences a change of heart and struggles to come to terms with it. Although Brian is reluctant to admit it, Justin is all too aware something is wrong and insists that Brian confess all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exclusive

"Honey... you're home."

I start a little at Justin's flat, mildly bitter tone. I'd hoped he might already be asleep given that I've arrived home well past midnight, but he's sitting up in bed, wide awake and looking thoroughly unimpressed with me. Fuck.

I consider my options, of which talking is not one. I'm pretty sure he's naked under the sheets, so I could try that very tempting angle... or I could tell him it's late and insist that I need to get some sleep. Both would probably work. Both are better options than whatever conversation he's angling for. Which shall I choose? While I try to decide, I sit down on the edge of the bed and stall by taking my shoes off.

But before I can make up my mind, let alone even say a single word, Justin snaps, "You know what? Don't worry - I think I can handle both sides of the conversation tonight. Let's have a guess as to how it's going to go... I'll ask how you are, and you'll give me a one-syllable response. I'll ask about work, you'll grunt at me. I could say just about anything, and you'll make an excuse to leave, or you'll try to distract me with sex, or you'll say how tired you are and go straight to bed without touching me or looking at me. Well, now it's my turn - I'm really fucking tired, Brian. End of the line. You need to tell me what's going on right the fuck now."

I shrug. "Nothing's going on."

"Bullshit!" He leaps out of bed and pulls on a robe, twisting it tightly around him. Sex is clearly off the table and out the door. His anger courses through the room as he comes storming over to stand in front of me. "Bull. Shit. Nothing's going on? You have been pushing me away for  _weeks._ At first I thought it was just that work was getting to you, but according to you it's 'fine' _._ Everything's 'fine' with you lately, but you're barely talking to me, you hardly even look at me, you're treating me like..."

He sighs shakily, then says quietly, "Like you want out of this."

" _What?!"_

"Well, do you?"

"Fuck no!"

"Then what is it? What did I do? Are you hiding something? Is something bad going on? Are you sick again?"

"No!"

"Then tell me what the fuck is wrong!" His voice cracks as he exclaims, "You're scaring me!"

I stand up, desperate to go to him and comfort him, but Justin holds up a hand and says, "Don't. Don't you dare. No touching until you explain yourself."

I sit back down. "You didn't do anything. I'm perfectly healthy. I  _don't_ want out of this."

He relaxes a fraction of a fraction, then asks softly, uncertainly, "So what are you hiding?"

There's no backing out now. I'm going to have to tell him. I knew it would come to this at some point, but I hadn't expected it to be tonight. 

"I don't know how to say it," I admit. "It's going to sound absurd."

"Whatever it is, just say it," he pleads. "You're not just scaring me, you're  _hurting_ me."

Guilt hits me like a fucking freight train. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck._ What the hell is wrong with me?

"I didn't mean to..." I reach out and he takes a step back, shaking his head slightly. It frustrates me to no end, but I can't complain since I've clearly brought it on myself. All I can think to do is apologise and hope it's enough. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Just talk to me," he insists. "Tell me what's going on. Please?"

It would be a hell of a lot easier if he weren't halfway across the room. I need him close right now; I need his touch to anchor me, like it always does. But he's hanging back and is obviously not open to negotiation on that front. There's a strange vague sense of déjà vu attached to the space he's forcing between us; it occurs to me that this is how it used to be when we were in the off-again portions of our relationship, with him straining to keep his distance from me, while I was overcome with seemingly hopeless longing. It's back with a vengeance now. I hate myself for doing this to us. It shouldn't be this way anymore. He's my husband, after all; Justin has always deserved better, but now he deserves the best. What the fuck am I doing giving him any less than that?

"Bri,  _please,"_ he begs. His arms are coiled so tightly around himself that I'm starting to worry he's going to bruise himself.

I can't quite bring myself to meet his gaze. I pretend to loosen my tie like I'm about to take it off, but really I just need to busy my fingers to fight the anxious restlessness mounting within me. I don't know how to say this or how he'll react. But every moment I'm not saying anything, I'm probably scaring him or hurting him even more than I already have. So I just say it: "I don't want us to fuck other men anymore."

For a minute, I swear everything stops. The entire apartment is dead silent. I can't even hear any street noise. Everything is frozen.

Then Justin's eyebrow lifts slightly, and he blinks at me. It almost looks like he wants to laugh. "You what?"

"I don't want us to fuck other men anymore," I repeat, glaring at him, because he'd better not laugh. Not now. He seems to heed this warning well enough; I suppose I'll just have to pretend I don't notice him biting the inside of his cheek.

"Okay? Is that... is that  _it?_ " He loosens his grasp on the robe, letting it fall open as he comes to sit next to me. Thank god. I instantly wrap an arm around him and hold him nice and close. "I'm sorry - I was preparing for the worst. I thought maybe the cancer had come back. I thought you'd found someone else!"

Well, that fucking stings. "You really thought that?" 

Justin grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently. Then he grasps it in his tightly and says, "I'm sorry. You were acting so weird! I couldn't figure it out, I guess I started getting paranoid."

"Don't apologise. I was being an asshole," I squeeze his hand. "But you should know you don't ever have to worry about that."

"Apparently not," he smiles at me. "Apparently you're all mine now. What brought this on?"

"I don't know. Lately, with other men... it's been... different."

Different doesn't even begin to cover it. What's a better word? Dull is the first one that comes to mind. Pointless also seems rather fitting. I never saw it coming, but there it is. I'm not just tired of being with other men, I'm exhausted. I'm so fucking weary of it I can't stand it. It started with a guy from the gym, a couple of months ago. We went back to his place and for some reason all I could think about was how his sheets smelt like our sheets at home, and then I couldn't stop comparing him to Justin. Convinced it was a glitch and nothing more, I picked up a guy the next night at a bar. We fucked. I thought about Justin. I missed Justin. I wanted to go home to Justin.

Justin, Justin, Justin. 

And so the 'glitch' continued with every other guy I've tried fucking since then. There's no thrill or excitement to be found. We fuck, I think about Justin, I leave unsatisfied and feeling guilty. I can't decide whether that guilt is misplaced or not. I mean, this is what we've always agreed to. I'm not cheating. Yet somehow, I leave these other men with my skin crawling and my stomach sinking. On some level, it feels like a betrayal.

Whether it is or it isn't barely even matters, because the sense of betrayal pales in comparison to the sense of longing. That's nothing new, of course, because he's always had that affect on me. But now it's worse than it's ever been. I find myself with these men but not  _with_ them, because all I can do is miss the way Justin touches me; the way he knows what I like, what I need. I miss the feel of him, his scent, the motion of his body against mine. I miss hearing him saying he loves me, all breathless, a rush of words that flow from him as he comes, repeated again more slowly and surely as we lie together recovering. I miss the sense of - dare I say it - intimacy. Familiarity. That connection I have with him and only him. Everything else with anyone else feels empty.

After all of that is finally out in the open, I admit, "I'm not getting anything out of it anymore, I suppose."

"And what about when I've been with other men lately?" Justin asks.

I shrug. "If you want to keep doing that-"

"I want you to tell me how you feel about it."

"It's fun when I'm there with you."

"And when you're not?"

"I used to not give a shit. I used to like hearing about it." I hang my head and admit quietly, "I don't feel that way anymore."

"Brian," Justin gasps, slapping my knee. "Why didn't you tell me?! I would have stopped!"

"I'm telling you now."

"After weeks of silently angsting!" _  
_

"I wouldn't call it 'angsting'," I protest sullenly.

Justin sighs frustratedly. "Whatever you want to call it or not call it, you need to tell me if you're unhappy. God fucking damnit, you are forty-four years old. We have been involved for  _fifteen years._ I love you, but you are way past the point where it's acceptable to act like this."

"I don't want you sacrificing-"

"I wouldn't call it a sacrifice. Not even close. I thought you would have realised that..." He trails off, at a loss and clearly agitated. "Fuck, I can't believe you've kept this to yourself."

"Maybe I kept it to myself because it sounds completely fucking ridiculous. You're hearing these words come out of  _my_ mouth, right? How are you even taking me seriously? I mean, how many years did I spend trying to indoctrinate you and every other fag with my iron-clad insistence that monogamy was a joke?"

"I wouldn't call it indoctrination. I gladly chose to join you in our non-conventional lifestyle, and I enjoyed it while it lasted." He bumps his knee against mine. "But people change. Relationships change."

"That's one way of putting it." I lean against him, holding him more snugly to me. Desperate to touch him properly, I work my fingers under his robe and stroke his side. "Can you imagine me saying this ten years ago?"

He laughs out loud. "Ten years ago, you wouldn't even let me buy you a drink."

"Exactly."

Justin sighs, swallowing his laughter. "Bri, I feel like I'm stating the obvious here... but it's not ten years ago."

Obvious though it may be, he does have a point. I run my fingers through his hair, hoping he can tell I'm trying to make up for the hurt I caused. Justin closes his eyes and tips his head towards me, letting me bury my fingers in his blonde locks. I breathe in the scent of his shampoo - the one I've found myself searching for with the other men. Even if their scent bears some faint resemblance to Justin's, it never feels right. I only want him.

Goddamnit. I can practically feel my former self frothing at the mouth. Here I am, cuddling with my husband, talking about our  _feelings,_ and getting weak-kneed over his fucking coconut shampoo. The Brian Kinney of days past would probably be sick over what I've become. Hell, he'd probably orchestrate a mercy killing.

Hesitantly, I admit it: "Sometimes I think if... if I met my former self today, we wouldn't even recognise each other."

Justin's eyes remain closed, but his forehead creases as a slight frown forms on his face. "What do you think he'd think of you now?"

"I think he'd sneer," I say, smiling slightly. "I think he'd be shocked and appalled. He'd insist on resenting us, dig his heels in, and mock me tirelessly."

Justin's mouths quirks. I touch my fingers to his jawline, brush my thumb over the soft swell of his lower lip. Now he opens his eyes, looking right at me with this impossibly loving expression on his face. Warmth spreads through me; nobody else has ever looked at me the way he does. Very softly, I continue, "I think, underneath all of that, he'd be insanely jealous. Or hopeful, I guess, that one day he'd get to come home to this. To you and everything we have here. I think it would give him something to live for. You've always had a way with that, you know."

He grins, and it could light up the entire fucking city. I kiss him, gladly feeling his smile against my lips. "So what do you think?"

Feigning confusion, Justin asks, "What do I think about what?" 

"You know what."

Eyes glittering, he whispers, "I want you to say it. You have to say it."

I give him a sour look and grind out (as though it's a burden to say it, when actually the words are just shy from bursting out of me), "Should we make this... exclusive?"

"Yes," he says, jumping into my lap and throwing his arms around me. "Yes, yes,  _yes."_

With his four ecstatic yeses, I'm reminded of when I proposed. Happiness pours through me, enlivening and intoxicating. Justin cups my face in his hands and kisses me. It consumes me - his soft lips and sweet breath, the slide of his tongue against mine. Fifteen years of this and I still can't get enough, or get over how fucking great - how fucking  _right -_  it feels to be with him.

"Also," Justin says suddenly, laughing, "I totally get to say  _I told you so."_

"Oh you do, do you?"

"I do," he smirks, and repeats happily, "I told you so, Brian Kinney. I knew you'd give in sooner or later and become 100% monogamous."

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Never." Justin slides a hand up under my shirt, stroking my chest with his nimble fingers. "Is this effective immediately?"

"If you want it to be."

"I don't want to rush you. Do you want one last night of debauchery?"

"Not even a little," I instantly reply, without even thinking. There's nothing to think about. He can rush me as much as he wants - I can't get him all to myself soon enough. "You?"

"Everything I want is right here," he says, smiling brightly. "You're all the debauchery I need. You know what this means, right?"

"Hmmm?"

He kisses my neck, my jaw, my cheek.

"Well... we could go and visit the clinic. Get tested. See if we're clean. And then..." he arches a brow at me suggestively, "If we're clean and if we're  _exclusive..."_

"This is why I love you."

"Why, because of how quickly I can turn a serious discussion about the future of our relationship into a conversation about barebacking?"

"Absolutely. I can't think of a better reason." 

He laughs and pulls a condom out of his robe pocket, then slips the robe off and tosses it aside. Justin holds up the condom and whispers seductively, "Why don't you show me what it'll be like? Take me for a practice run. Show me how you'll fuck me when we can do it raw."

I snatch the condom and twist him around, throwing him down on the mattress. Justin grabs my tie and yanks it off, then practically shreds my shirt in his rush to get it off. Buttons bounce around the room, but I don't give a shit. I crush my mouth to his and kiss him with everything I've got.

"By the way," Justin says suddenly, the words mumbled with his mouth mashed against mine, "You can change your mind."

"Hmm?" 

"If you ever want to go back to the way things were, that's okay. I just need you to tell me." He punches my arm lightly. "You would be  _amazed_ how much easier things would be if you would just talk to me!"

Grateful though I might be for his permission, I don't need it. I tell him so. Justin looks slightly doubtful, so I remind him, "I've been sexually active and anti-monogamy for thirty years. I think that's enough. I really think I'm done."

For some reason he's laughing again. I prod his side. "What?"

"I was just thinking how the phrase 'sexually active' doesn't even  _begin_ to describe you."

"Very funny." I brush Justin's hair out of his face, and for some reason that strange sense of déjà vu returns. It takes me a second to place the moment and then it hits me; the night we got back together in my office, after he'd gotten rid of the fiddler. I remember not being able to get enough of him, aching to grab him and claim him as mine. His hair had grown out, all long and silky, and I kept running my hands through it. It would fall over his face, and I'd brush it back and he'd be looking back at me with more love than I'd ever known. He was right - I never should have let him leave. I should have told him that I loved him, that I wasn't going to stop loving him.

I can't count how many "should haves" haunt our relationship... and then there's an endless amount of "shouldn't haves". Sometimes I don't know how he's stuck by me all this time. There are still mornings where I wake up, discover him next to me, and think to myself,  _how? Why?_ Anyone else - anyone less determined, less resilient, less  _Justin_ \- would have abandoned ship years ago. 

Carefully weaving my fingers through his hair, I ask, "What if I met the old you now?"

"You mean the young me?" Justin grins. "This  _is_ the old me."

"If you're old what the fuck does make me?"

"Ancient, of course."

"Fuck off."

Justin nuzzles my neck and asks, "What were you saying about the young me, oh ancient one?"

After a moment of sullen deliberation, I decide to let that one slide. "Okay, the young you. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-year-old Sunshine. What if he met me? What would he think?"

"I think he'd have to pinch himself," Justin says, stroking up and down my arms lazily. "I think that - once he'd pinched himself about half a dozen times, of course - he'd be relieved. And maybe just a tad smug, because - and let me just say this once more, with feeling - _I told you so_."

I smack him playfully and he yelps out an apology, laughing. Then he smiles and says, "He'd be hopeful, too, knowing that he had this to look forward to. And then he'd race on back to his Brian and look forward to finding out how they go from being them, to being us."

"He wouldn't want to skip ahead?" I ask, thinking again of all the should-and-shouldn't-haves, imagining he'd probably quite like to have missed all of that.

Justin's smile grows, and there's that look again - that look of immeasurable love I've grown addicted to and that I can't do without, that nothing else could ever hope to compare to. He doesn't hesitate at all: "Not even for a second."


End file.
